Slashed Rubber and Slashed Hearts
by x.Trixie.x
Summary: George’s Mustang got vandalized and she needs some fast cash to fix it. Too bad it’s another two weeks till she gets her measly paycheck from Happy Time! .chapter four added.
1. International House of TROUBLES

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own any of these characters or anything else associated with "Dead Like Me." If I did, the show would still be running. DUH : )

This story starts the day after Halloween… I know that this won't totally flow into what happened in the last episode since they were already at Der Waffle Haus sharing candy, but just bare with me. That's why it's fan fiction… I can make whatever happen whenever I want it to happen.

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**1: International House of TROUBLES**

"Why Georgia, is something the matter?" the platinum blonde starlet-gone-grim reaper questioned in her usual cheery demeanor, despite eyeing a seriously distressed George.

George Lass had just trudged into the hustle and bustle of Der Waffle Haus—which was still covered in Halloween decorations mind you, her long hair flowing off her shoulders in a messy disarray of tangles. She really should have brushed it, but she had a lot of things on her mind, and grooming habits wasn't one of them. Glancing over to the "official reaper staff" booth, George noticed that Daisy was the only one there. That made perfect sense considering she was actually able to get into the bathroom this morning. Usually Daisy was hogging it up for about an hour… applying expensive face creams and such while she continually banged on the door and demanded entrance.

Anyway, George was not in a good mood… not in a good mood _at all_ after waking up to discover that someone had slashed the tires on her car.

_George's POV: Who the hell would want to mess up my car? MY CAR… Probably some bastard who thought it'd be a funny Halloween prank. What happened to toilet-papering trees and egging people houses? Is that like so old school now or something? Not destructive enough? God dammit, I've been dead too long already._

Then there was this whole business of her recent chaotic encounter with the city's public transportation system… In fact, she_ still_ couldn't shake the feeling of uneasiness from her. Between the anxiety caused by that reckless bus driver and the old lady sitting in front of her overwhelming her and making her light-headed by spraying numerous squirts of cheap floral perfume, George just didn't know where to begin. In short, riding the bus of "HELL-o Kitty Land" (as she so properly named it) was not something she wanted to experience again. EVER. After today that was it! And when it let off two blocks away and she descended the steps of that wicked thing, so was so relieved to get off that she immediately felt the urge to kiss the ground and literally had to restrain herself from simply dropping to her knees and puckering up to that cold, hard concrete. It was quite a beautiful thing to not be in motion…

If Georgia had to rate her satisfaction of the entire bus ride, it'd get a one out of ten—and the only reason it got even a one was because she was being fair. It _had_ taken her from point "A" (her house) to point "B" (Der Waffle Haus) after all.

George was standing in front of the booth now, removing her jade green jacket and then parking herself on a seat already half-occupied by none other than Miss Daisy Adair.

"Well, as Mason would say, 'I'm royally, viciously fucked!'" replied George with fake enthusiasm in answer to Daisy's question, using her wide, sarcastic, everyday-is-a-fucking-wonderful-experience type of smile.

She even added in an unnecessary, giggly little laugh to top it all off.

_Be happy. Think happy. Nothing is bothering you in the least. All is well… Ok, I'm losing my sanity!_

"Georgia, please never do that again. Valley girl-ness is _not_ a good look on you," commented Daisy, with a thoroughly disgusted look plastered on her face of perfect complexion.

"Someone say my name?" asked Mason a little late, lifting his slightly awakened head from the edge of the other side of the table and looking around at what appeared to him to be a blurry bunch of faces.

Daisy yelped in surprise and bounded up in her seat. George, who was sitting on the end next to Daisy, screamed a little too loud and fell off the bench onto the freshly mopped floor, and then slipped as she stumbled to get up. They had thought it was only them sitting at the table!

All the customers in this little waffle restaurant turned towards their table in curiosity of the racket.

_So far it was an average, run-of-the-mill day at Der Waffle Haus. Cause a scene or argument at the table, get the post-its and then skedaddle. That was the drill and today was no different. _

George quickly stood up, composed herself and sat back down, thoroughly embarrassed by her loud voice and lack of coordination.

_God, now I have a wet ass. Freakin' lovely! This just puts the icing on my shitty day cake._

Kiffany, who was standing nearby clutching a mop that she had just used to wipe the floors, reached her empty hand out to pat George on the shoulder. She asked her if she was alright.

"Yeah I'm fine," responded George with a large, mortified grin.

After Kiffany walked away, George turned her attention and head towards Mason who had just taken a flask filled with booze out of his pocket and started downing it like it was a canteen of refreshing water and he was some thirsty, dehydrated man who had been lost for days in a far-off desert.

"Jesus Christ Mason! You scared the shit outta me!" whispered Georgia in an annoyed tone, glaring at him with wide eyes.

"Yeah Mason, I never even noticed you were asleep on that bench, said Daisy, sounding somewhat annoyed.

She placed her delicate fair hand, with silver-painted fingernails, over her heart to catch her breath.

The Brit looked at them funny and then returned the now-empty flask to his pocket.

Daisy's baby blues suddenly lit up and she smiled a devilish smile at Mason. She looked at him as if she had uncovered his deepest, darkest secret or something. Like she had him all figured out.

"You spent the night at this joint, didn't ya Mason?" questioned Daisy, taking a brief moment to look down at her mug as she stirred some more sugar into her coffee.

"Ohhh, you _didn't_!" joined in Georgia.

Mason put up the hood on his old gray sweatshirt that was underneath his blue pinstriped blazer and held it far down on his head with his hands as if it would protect him from their accusations.

"I was not asleep! I got here early and I decided to take a nap…"

He gave an "innocent pout" that didn't fool anybody.

"Mhmm… whatever Mason," said George, who then turned to speak to Daisy. "I'm gonna go see Kiffany about getting some grub. Be back later."

After George walked off, Daisy started some light conversation with Mason about his resting habits. Too bad someone else happened to catch a snippet of the topic, unaware to them of course.

Footsteps were coming towards the table and they both turned to see their other reaper buddy, ol' Roxy, approach in full uniform. She was a tough-as-nails type of woman who earned her living by not only taking souls, but taking people downtown as well—to the station that is. Yes, she was a cop and this was one mean officer you did not want to mess with.

The dark-skinned woman casually took a seat next to Daisy, where Georgia was sitting previously.

"So how is everyone?" Roxy asked nicely, looking around the table. Before anyone even had a fraction of a second to answer her, she acted fast—out of the blue really, grabbing the lapels of Mason's blazer with her hands. She pulled him up from his seat to practically over the table. "Mason if you slept here—" she hissed, her eyes ablaze.

Mason looked wide-eyed and frightened at Roxy, while Daisy froze in awe with a cup of Joe perched at her parted lips.

Mason suddenly became fully awake and pulled away from her grasp.

"I swear to God Roxy, I didn't fucking sleep 'ere!" protested Mason, getting all dramatic and throwing his hands up in the air.

"You better not have, because I know you don't want a redo of what I did to you last time… Or do you need me to refresh your memory? Perhaps, a free demonstration?"

Mason cringed and shook his head, thinking about how Officer Roxy had dragged him out of the coffee shop and threw him outside quite painfully. That was one thing he didn't want a repeat of! Mason and pavement just didn't mix well together and that was that.

"Oh Roxy, you don't have to be so hard on him…" crooned Daisy, sticking up for Mason.

Mason smiled in light of the fact that someone actually happened to be on _his _side for a change.

"If I don't, no one else will," replied Roxy, staring down Mason as if he was some pathetic, little good-for-nothing. She was growing tired of his stupid, silly antics and reoccurring nasty habits. "This boy needs a serious reality check."

"I mean, we all know he's a fuck-up, but nobody's perfect," explained Daisy, her eyes twinkling with their usual mischievous sparkle.

Mason quickly shot Daisy a look that could kill, and then he grinned brightly at her.

"_Thanks_, love…"

He then realized that if he wanted to get the job done right, he would have to do it himself… and _that_ job was defending himself.

"Look, why would I bloody sleep here, if Georgie and Daisy said I could crash at their place where it's much more comfortable?" said Mason in defense, running a fingerless-gloved hand through his messy brown hair and hoping to God she bought it.

"He does prove a good point… ah, alright," replied Roxy, somewhat satisfied and finally sitting fully back in her seat.

"Where's the Rube man?" questioned Mason, trying to switch the topic off of him while the opportunity was golden.

"He said he'd be running a little late," answered Roxy. "Had some errands to run or something… go figure."

George had finished waiting for her food and had come back with a tray of breakfast assortments. She was absolutely starving and went up to the front so that the cook could give her whatever the hell was available the fastest. George just had not been particularly fond of the idea of sitting around and waiting patiently for Kiffany to come to the table and ask for her order. Plus, there were too many other tables full of people and Kiffany would take _forever_.

"Hey, you took my seat!" the snappy eighteen-year-old slash twenty-if-you-count-the-two-years-dead yelled out.

"Ya snooze, ya lose," responded Roxy, not even budging an inch from her seat.

"Fine," Georgia spat out, acting like she wasn't offended.

George huffed, sat down her tray, and then took a seat next to Mason. Although, when she sat down, she landed on his lap instead of the seat.

"Gee, Georgie, I didn't know you liked to get all up, close and personal with me like this. I'll have to watch out when we do reaps together," teased Mason, winking.

Georgia gruffly moved off of him and pushed him a short distance back into the booth's divider wall. His body slamming against it and caused a brief thud sound. Mason winced as if it was terribly painful and then made a face like he was disappointed that she moved—or rather moved him. "What no complimentary lap dance?"

George took in a fork-full of scrambled eggs. "Dream on," she said with her mouth full.

"What's up with her this morning?" asked Daisy.

"I dunno, beats me," replied Roxy.

"HELLO, you could like ask me personally. Hey that's an idea! You know, you're all talking like I'm NOT HERE!" bursted out Georgia. "I know I'm dead, but I'm not invisible. You'd think you guys would know that!"

"What?" they all happened to ask at the same time.

"I'm _mad_ because I had to take the bus today! That bus driver was on _crack_! He rode up the curb and ran two red lights. If I wasn't already _dead_ I would have seen my life flashing before my eyes!" answered Georgia in an irritated tone.

"Why did you have to take the bus?" asked Roxy, curious.

"Apparently some little blue movie decided it would be hilarious to slash my tires! All four of them! And guess what? I have _no_ money… _I'm broke_! Happy Time doesn't pay me till another two weeks. How am I supposed to pay for this?"

Georgia groaned and Mason just chuckled at her for referring to someone as a Hollywood porn video.

"Yeah, about that… You see Georgia, I was going to wake you up and tell you all about it, but you were _dead _asleep," explained Daisy.

"_Obviously_."

"You know what I mean… no pun intended Georgia."

"So how did you get here?" questioned George. "And by the way, thanks for finding me a ride!"

"I hitch-hiked. You wouldn't believe how many people stopped…"

_Yes I would. Of course they were all men, because they thought Daisy was some blonde goddess. Just because she was a movie star in her past life, it doesn't mean she's better than everybody else. I'm sure they all wanted to give her a ride. Miss Little "Gone With the Wind." Daisy Adair. Her name even sounds perfect. Mine's Georgia Lass. I sound like some loser farm girl. Great, now I'm jealous of Daisy and frankly, that's just pathetic. _

"Georgia?"

Mason's voice brought George back from her thoughts and she gave him her full attention. Meanwhile, Daisy still rambled on about the gracious drivers to Roxy.

"Oh, sorry… I guess I drifted off. What were you saying?"

"I know who slashed your tires," revealed Mason slowly, sounding like he really truly knew. "That's why I was taking a nap in here. I came home early in the morning and saw this dude all crouched down and messing with your car and such. I chased him forever and I ended up close to here and it was too far to go back, so _naturally_, I decided to just crash here since it was a few hours before our meet and—"

"Well, who was it?" asked George, impatiently interrupting him.

"Probably some brother of somebody she reaped who was out to get their revenge," joked Roxy.

George looked intently at Mason for an answer to who had vandalized her treasured Mustang.

"It was Trip."

Daisy had spilled her coffee onto the table in shock. She gave a small gasp and started wiping it up with a napkin, while George stared at Mason, dumbfounded at what he had just revealed.

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**Like it? Hate it? Suggestions?**

Just simply REVIEW my dears! It only takes a mere second to tell me what you think & I like to be reassured that people are _actually_ reading. After all, I don't write for myself. I write for you beautiful people! MY PUBLIC... ha, okay I'm done.


	2. Breakfast at Kiffany’s Continued

**2: Breakfast at Kiffany's Continued**

"Fuck! Are you serious?" exclaimed George, hastily grabbing onto Mason's blazer sleeve to pull him closer until his face was merely two inches from her own.

"Hey, what's with everyone grabbing onto my clothing today? It never did anything to you," mumbled Mason, frowning uncomfortably and cutting himself loose from her grip.

"MASON?!" persisted George, her eyes wide.

Mason squinted funny and lightly cringed, falling back against the back of the booth seat.

"I'm afraid so Georgie."

"Ugh, so what now? He thinks like not calling me and completely ignoring me isn't bad enough or something? He has to fucking vandalize my car too? THAT'S SUCH BULLSHIT!"

"Calm down Georgia," coaxed Daisy, reaching out to pat George's hand. "We'll figure out _something_…"

Mason suddenly got his nerve back.

"Pssh! Well, I don't know about _you_ Daisy, but the next time I see that little country club pussy-boy, I'm going to give him a little piece of my mind."

"Aw, really Mason?" questioned Georgia, sweetly.

He nodded assertively.

"Personally, I don't think that's such a good idea Mason. I mean, you barely have a piece of a mind to begin with. _Let_ _alone_, any extras to spare."

"Hardy har har… you're bloody hilarious Daisy-darling. NOT!"

Roxy leaned toward George to get her attention.

"Want me to write him up for destruction of property sweetie?" she offered, starting to take out her mini police register notepad with the attached pen.

"Nah… thanks though. I'd rather deal with him myself whenever I get the chance."

"Oh ok, but if you ever change your mind just let me know. I can SO book him for that shit."

"Actually Roxy… you _can't_!" elucidated Daisy in a bit of a snobby tone. "Georgia stole that car from some dead guy and it's probably still listed under his name. You don't want her to get in trouble with the law do you?"

"Look Blondie, I _am_ the law and I'll book whoever THE HELL I please," shot back the no-nonsense cop, with her arms crossed in front of her chest. She soon unfolded her arms though, and jabbed a finger toward Daisy's direction. "Including you, if ya tick me off today."

"Ladies! Ladies!" laughed Mason, sticking out his hands in a half-hearted attempt to break up the bickering.

"Is that so? Ooo I'm shakin' in my Mary Janes."

Daisy smirked and clicked her black heels together underneath the table in demonstration.

Mason cupped his gloved hands together over his mouth and yelled out, "OHHHH!" Then he shook his fist in the air and requested a chick fight numerous times.

"Get over yourself Mason," sighed Daisy, shaking her head.

Georgia groaned, tired of listening to her fellow reaper co-workers' conflicting attitudes, and in response, laid her head down onto the table in utter dismay. Her place setting was clear by now since Kiffany had long since stopped by and removed all the dirty dishes to take back to the kitchen to be washed. Her dark blonde hair fanned out across her jacket as she tried to come up with reasons why Trip would lash out at her (besides the fact that she took his father's soul, and there's no way he'd know or ever understand that anyhow.)

"GEORGE!" called out Roxy, one hand holding a dark roast coffee and the other gently shaking the young girl's arm to wake her up.

"Mm… hmm?"

"Guess what! I have a story that might just make you feel better."

"Sure," replied George in a soft, morose voice that was mostly muffled by her head being face down to the table. "Try me."

"Ok, you know the other day…" began Roxy in her raspy voice, getting into storytelling mode. "I was patrolling this drugstore, right? It was robbed the other night or somethin'… Well, point is: I got a little thirsty so I got in line at the check-out counter with my Dr. Pepper. The lady in front of me had like five damn gossip mags—_way crazy_, and her and the cashier started talking about celebrity couples and how their husbands are retarded and bullshit. Personally, I could care less about so-and-so breaking up with so-and-so and what-not… But do you know what she said before the lady left?"

"Have a nice day?" guessed Mason, turning his hand out in question.

"No fool, she said 'MEN ARE TRIPS!'"

"I don't get it," admitted George, looking up baffled.

"Men are trips… _TRIPS_! As in all men are assholes like that guy Trip. Get it? …Look honey, I'm trying to cheer you up."

"Oh—ohhh… ha-ha."

Roxy rolled her eyes and George fully sat herself up, rubbing her forehead that was red from the strange way she was laying down.

"I'm sorry… I just feel like shit today okay? Uh, th—thanks for trying though. By the way… where the hell is Rube? I can't wait here all day… I _do_ have a job to get to before Christmas."

"Ah, I wouldn't worry about that Peanut," came Rube's voice from out of nowhere. He was suddenly at the peak of their dining table, towering above them all with a sort of wicked charm dancing across his face. "You'll get there way before you have to tear off any wrapping paper from your gleaming lump of coal."

"Jeez, it's about time you showed up!" snapped Georgia, whose frown soon turned into a grin.

_Good ol' Rube and his sharp wit… _

"Okay people!" yelled the boss-man, flicking out post-its to each of them as if they were cards and he was dealing. "I haven't got time to dawdle and neither do you. There are souls to reap! So grab your slips and GO… _Thank you! Thank you_!"

Before he departed, he tipped forward an imaginary hat and said Good-bye. The rest of the reapers stood up and began to leave.

"Something's up with him," announced Mason, eyeing the back of Rube peculiarly as he walked out the door.

"Yeah, he's definitely up to something," agreed George, running her fingers through a knotted strand of hair as a substitute comb.

Roxy put in her two cents worth as well.

"Leave him alone. That man is _always_ up to something!"

"_True_, but I think it's a little more this time…" said Georgia.

"Well whatever it is, like Roxy said, best not to question him. He's like a rocky cliff… get on his edge and it's all over for you," warned Mason, doing a hand motion where his fingers fell down at a steep decline.

"Didn't you once compare him to a volcano spewing lava? How many damn similes do you have? What do you spend all day thinking them up or something?"

"Similes?" questioned Mason, the word sounding foreign to his own ears.

"Comparisons using like or as?! DUH!" cut in Daisy, not being able to resist an opportunity to correct Mason, or make him look like an idiotic fool rather.

"Oh, oh… right. I do recall learning something like that in grade school come to think of it. At first, I thought it was 'smile' just spelled wrong and when I told the teacher, all the other kids made fun of me."

They all laughed to themselves, not needing to wonder why. Sometimes Mason really acted like he was dumber than a rock.

"Well I got a good bit stored away really," continued Mason. "More than you'd like to know George. More than you'd like to know. Dickheads like him have tons of possibilities."

"Hmm," responded George, acknowledging what he said and just kind of letting it filter through her brain.

"Well, I'll see you cool cats later," joked George. "My reap isn't until tonight at West something or other, so I'll—j"

"West Elkin Avenue?" interrupted Mason.

"Uh... well. Actually I dunno, let me check," began George, reaching into her coat pocket to grab out the little yellow sheet of paper with the sticky on the back. She confirmed his assumption by letting him have a sneak peak at her post-it.

_R. Freidman_

_246 West Elkin Avenue, Apt. Suite 6C_

_E.T.D. 9:36 P.M. _

"No way! I've got an 'E. Benner' for the same address. Well Georgie-girl, looks like we're teaming up on this one… for a dangerous double death of course!" Mason said excitedly, side-hugging George to him.

She was close enough to catch a slight whiff of his cologne. It was some weird imported British stuff that smelled like a combination of furniture polish and aftershave. Whatever it was, it was better than his usual aroma of garbage.

_And wow, he actually bathed today! Props for him._

"Oh, joy…" she replied, with a weak smile.

Mason let go off her, his hand sliding down her back and then—

_Did he just touch my ass? Oh, helllll no!_

_Mason... Mason... Mason..._

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**A/N: So like terribly sorry I took so long to update! That was pretty lame of me.** **Pretty lame indeed. I'll totally be faster with the next chapter... no lie. **


	3. Gaining Entrance

**A/N:** Ahh I think this site hates me... I couldn't upload ANYTHING for days! It kept saying there was some error. ? GRR & RAWR & yeah... _ahem. _Well, here it is finally after much delay. Enjoy.

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**3: Gaining Entrance **

"Who fucking has a Halloween party the day after?" whispered Mason to George, as they crouched behind a large potted plant in the hallway of apartment suites A-D.

"I don't know… _them_?" she replied back, pointing out her hand.

A maid pushing a cart filled with towels and various toiletries walked right passed and looked at them strangely because of their hiding spot, but they failed to notice her presence. No, they were far to transfixed on the elaborate, eye-catching costumes worn by a small group of high-class society people waiting at the threshold of Suite 6C to have their invitations checked by a rather large Italian bouncer.

Not too long ago, they had attempted to get by him without a pass or costumes…

"No invite? No entrance!" the bouncer forcefully told them.

"Darling…" began Mason, getting into character of a concerned husband. "It, uh seems we have misplaced our invitations. I _do_ hope you didn't drop them."

"Sorry _dear_, I'm afraid I may have left it in the car," made up George, after she pretended to search through her handbag. Hopefully, the doorman would be sympathetic.

It would be nice if they actually had come there in a car. Instead, they were forced to walk the three blocks because of a certain ex-lover that took out his frustration on her automobile. And yes, George still planned to seek revenge. Sadly, her undead work had to come before pleasure. That is, if she was able to get into a certain residence to complete her job.

"Well then, I suggest you go outside and search for it!" he snidely ordered, crossing his hands in front of his chest to block their path and illustrate the finality of his words.

Currently, her and Mason were trying to come up with a way to get into the lavish party. Otherwise, two souls would not be taken tonight and that would not be good. Not only for the "dead" people, but for them as well if Rube found out.

"Maybe, we could just—well, like sort of lift up the entire apartment building…," began Mason, doing an upwards hand motion to go along with his crazy suggestion. "And while it's in crumbles, we could find the people and—"

"Uh, yeah… that's completely realistic. I'll go get the forklift…" replied George, sarcastically. She looked away from the green-striped wallpaper and faced him. "Do you have any better, more logical ideas?"

"No! _Shit_, we need an invite!" whined Mason, hitting his hand against his head. Apparently it was his own, special little method for brainstorming—a direct approach. "Ugh, how do you suppose we go about getting one of _those_?"

"Well," came Daisy's delicate voice out of nowhere. "You could just ask the cleaning lady."

"Daisy?" they both gasped in unison.

There was Daisy, right beside them, dressed in full-on maid attire and clutching a bath towel in her right hand. Her other hand happened to be holding (kind of showing it off by waving it, really) the much sought after, fancy piece of printed stationary.

George was a bit perturbed. Here she _was_, alone with Mason—hitting it off _so_ well, and now Daisy had to show up and ruin it. Actually they really weren't hitting off all that well. They were pathetically on their knees behind a ficus, trying to hide from a doorman in hope that maybe one of the passersby would somehow drop their ticket into a party where two people were going to die.

_Still, screw Daisy! Although, she did get them an invitation… _

"Thanks," replied Georgia, semi-gratefully.

She accepted the invite card and stood up, flashing Daisy her cheesiest smile. Maybe if she was lucky, Daisy wouldn't see right through her and into her thoughts.

"How did you get it?" asked George, a bit curious.

"I was in the elevator and I _accidentally_ bumped into this couple. Naturally, they dropped their invite, but they were too preoccupied to notice since I was busy complimenting her on her hair, and him on his costume. Then, when they left and the doors closed, gosh, I just grabbed it up and stuck it into the pocket of this hideous uniform."

Mason got up as well and faced Daisy.

"Well love, that was awfully thoughtful of you to do that for us. However, I wasn't at all aware you were coming to this shindig… If you were planning all along to go as a maid though, you really should have went _French_ instead… so I could have gotten a little peeksy at your, uh—well, like last time."

"_You showed him your tits?!_" shouted George, appalled.

Two strangers in the hallway, including the bouncer, dropped their jaws and stared.

"Thank you for directing all the attention towards me Georgia," whispered Daisy, somewhat annoyed. She dragged them to a more out of the way area. "Anyway, it was only one time… for like three seconds."

"Best three seconds of my life," admitted Mason, brashly nodding.

"Whatever. Please—just, a… spare me the details. Let's get going," said George, feeling awkward and more than a little disgusted with them both.

They found themselves at the door to suite 6C again—George and Mason that is. You see, Daisy wasn't actually dressed up to _go_ to the party. The _only_ reason she was there was because Rube had ordered her to hit the ritzy apartment building and assist the poor helpless souls. Now, she was nowhere to be seen; having hurried off _that_ quickly to do some shopping. Apparently, the place her and George lived needed to be spruced up with some new curtains or something…

"Ah, I see you've found your invitation," announced the doorman as he took it from their hands and examined it for authenticity.

"Yes, yes we did," replied George.

"You know, another couple lost there's too…"

"Oh, really? That's a shame. I _do_ hope they find it."

Luckily the people Daisy tripped in the elevator hadn't mentioned their name…

"Well, Mr. and Mrs. Wellington! It seems congratulations are in order."

"Uh, what?" burst out Mason.

"It says here that you both are now proud parents of a beautiful baby boy," he continued, reading off a list he had in his pocket.

"Ohhh… OH yeah. Thanks!" responded Georgia, rubbing her belly.

"Don't rub you're stomach you're not still pregnant!" whispered Mason, elbowing her.

"First baby. It's a—well, sort of hard to get used to him not being there," said George quickly, trying to save herself.

The bouncer nodded and then added, "No costumes tonight folks?"

"No, no we're fully dressed up—or dressed down rather," explained Mason, indicating his clothing.

"What _exactly_ are you two supposed to be then?"

Mason rolled his eyes.

"We're lowly street bums… yeah, no uh Armani attire for me tonight."

"Alright then, you both may proceed."

And with that, he moved out of the way of the door, and graciously welcomed them inside.

"Please enjoy yourselves… the buffet is to your immediate left and bar is located at—"

"Found it!" yelled Mason, spotting the bartender and lots of shiny, colorful bottles of booze. He felt as giddy as a small child in a candy shop. Pulling along George behind him, he made his way over to his ultimate destination.

"See, I told you it was a good idea we came early! C'mon, we can still get some good drinking time in before death strikes during this fateful hour…"


	4. Murder at the Masquerade

**4: Murder at the Masquerade**

"I'll have some more of this stuff, it's smashing! Bloody Brilliant," requested Mason, with one hand holding a liquor glass and the other hastily tugging on the arm of an annoyed bartender.

George grabbed his arm forcefully and dragged him away from the bar, his sneakers squeaking across the wood floor.

"We're not here to drink, we're here on business," said George, reprimanding him.

"Let's see—" Mason made his hands like a scale and slowly raised and lowered each hand representing each choice. "Business… booze… business… booze… business… BOOZE!" he finally agreed, looking at his highest lifted hand which happened to not be empty and instead, held his preferred liquor of the moment.

"I say cheers to no hangovers in the morning!" he loudly announced to a small crowd in the vicinity.

He walked a short way from George, went over to a man in the group wearing a Pilot get-up, and swung him into a casual "manly" shoulder-hug.

"_Eh_, chap?" continued Mason, grinning.

He took a swig from his own drink and then grabbed up the man's bottle of Jack Daniel's Premium Whiskey and took a gulp of that too.

"Hey what's the big idea pal?" he gruffly lashed back.

Everyone close by turned toward Mason. Appalled, "the Pilot" knocked away the reckless Brit and recovered his drink.

"Mason must you cause such a scene?" asked Georgia desperately as he returned to her. "You know, the overall plan is to blend in here and apparently that's too hard for you to grasp. We're lucky there are so many people here so that the host doesn't notice we don't belong."

"C'mon Georgie, loosen up. It's a _party_!"

"Yeah, and in a matter of minutes this _celebration _will turn into a funeral!"

"Aw, why so cynical? Don't you want to have a good time?" questioned Mason, worried about her mood.

She was acting so strange lately and it seemed to be only getting worse ever since that day at the bar with him, Daisy, and Ray. That was it! When she accidentally admitted to the entire club through a microphone that she lost her virginity… when she smashed that store window… She tried to hide her conflicted feelings about Trip from them, but they must have started to eat at her again.

"It's this fancy party! It reminds me of…"

"Wait!" halted Mason, bringing a mostly fisted hand to the brim of his lips.

"Oh God, it reminds you of Trip's father's funeral doesn't it?"

"Y—yeahh," choked out George. "It really does. The white linen tablecloths… the snooty people—well, if most of them didn't have on masks, but you know what I mean."

She circled her hand about the room to point out the comparisons. Already, she felt a wave of sickness in her stomach just by putting the connection out into the open. It hurt too much. _He_ had hurt her to_o_ much. When she was alive she was always smart to keep her distance and constantly shielded her heart from those unworthy of her love. Now that she was dead, she must have forgotten what made her _survive_—truly survive. She fell hard and fast for Trip, and she should have known that he'd want to play with her feelings, get her in bed, and then leave. It was just oh so typical.

But it wasn't his fault, it was _hers_. Or at least, she felt that _she_ was the one to blame. After all, she was dumb enough to believe he had even an ounce of respect for her. He didn't even _care_. Then he had to strip her of her last slither of dignity by slashing the tires on her car. It was so uncharacteristic of him too. What kind of rich boy would stoop so low? And the worst part about it was that she really didn't have any hard feelings towards him as of late. When she first heard about it from Mason she was positively _livid_, but now it was completely _impossible _to be mad. She absolutely hated herself for not being able to hate him too.

Mason, noticing how distraught she was, embraced her. Her head was just below his chin and he soothingly stroked her long hair. As he pulled back from her, he looked into her eyes. They were brimming with tears. Coming closer to her again, he leaned down to plant a soft kiss against her forehead.

_If only she would feel better,_ he thought. _I hate seeing her like this…_

"Want some Georgie?" he offered, holding up his glass while his other hand rubbed her back. "Might numb things a bit."

"I-I don't really feel much like drinking. Thanks though… Mason."

"Ah, I understand."

George's lips broke into a small grin.

"Can you even afford all that liquor you bought earlier? Last I knew, you only had a buck seventy-five in your wallet."

"_SSHHh_, don't let that bartender hear! Besides, I put it on my tab."

"Mason… uh, hell-lo! You don't _have_ a tab!" clarified George.

"Actually Georgie girl, I do," began Mason, trying to explain. "Or should I say, Mr. _Wellington_ does."

He winked.

"Mason, you're _awful_."

"I_ know_," he replied, admittedly.

He brushed back his messy brown hair with an army-green, fingerless glove-covered hand.

"Must you wear those things?" queried George, indicating the fashion faux pas. "You know, if they were black lace, you'd totally be Madonna in the 80's."

"Real funny Georgie. Real _cute… _Hey, you know what? That'll be my costume tonight. I'll be part Miss Material Girl!"

Then all of a sudden he started singing the hit song from way back when and George knew she was just going to lose it.

"_Living in a material world… MATERIAL!"_

Luckily no one could hear him over the blaring speakers of the stereo playing creepy Halloween jams.

"Mason, please!" begged George, clasping her hands over her delicate ears.

"Sorry! I just really wanted to wear a costume tonight. Would've been fun," he said, pouting.

"Yeah," agreed George. "I mean we didn't even really dress up for Halloween yesterday. We were only 'ghosts'. Plus, I'm sure all the stores had a big clearance on everything today. I'm sure Daisy got hers someplace like that. Or at least that's probably where she got her cop outfit... I know Roxy didn't let her borrow hers."

"Ah, some other time I suppose."

"Speaking of Daisy, she wanted me to ask you why you haven't been sleeping at your own house. You told us you needed a place to stay, but you never exactly told us _why_."

"You aren't going to believe this," laughed Mason, feeling a tad embarrassed. "But I've misplaced my keys to the damn place."

Georgia rolled her eyes and picked up a cracker and dip appetizer at the snack table directly next to were they were standing.

Between bites she said, "You should have just told us. We have an extra key."

"Yeah, seems kind of stupid to not have, huh?"

Georgia nodded with wide eyes and a smile. But as soon as Mason started off to get a 'sip of vodka,' she reeled him back in with her finger, like he was a trout and she was in full charge of the fishing pole. He didn't look too happy.

"C'mon Mason, you've had enough. Don't make me have to sign you up for Alcoholics Anonymous!"

"Not AA! They make you slowly QUIT drinking!"

"Well, that's kinda the idea of the program, Mason old boy!" she explained, reaching up to pat him on the shoulder.

"Alright! Alright!"

George suddenly felt the urge to check her watch. It was a good thing she did.

"It's 9:27! Holy shit, only a few more minutes and I've still gotta find 'R. Friedman' or I'm dead—_they're_ _dead_! Actually, come to think of it, we'll both be dead. I mean I already _am_... uh, yeah," she fretfully exclaimed as quiet as she could.

"Oh, that's _little_ Ricky that is. He's the guy at the front door. I noticed his ID Badge hanging off of his front shirt while we walked in."

"Ok, so what about yours?"

"'E. Benner?' I dunno; I'm still trying to scope them out in this madhouse."

"Well, scope harder!"

Hearing the mention of the name Elizabeth, Mason moved closer to a gossiping group of middle-aged women dressed like elegant ladies of the 1920's; all decked to nines in expensive, real diamond and gold jewelry. In fact, the bling was worth big, BIG money on the streets. Enough for someone to cut your throat for... It was really dangerous for them to decorate themselves so sumptuously, but then again this was supposed to be a wealthy, invitation-only party, so a lot of weirdoes shouldn't be on the guest list. Still, you never know. Oh well, Mason and George would soon find out. Hopefully her death wouldn't be as brutal as what they had pictured in their mind.

He moved in closer to sharpen his listening ability and reassure himself that he had located the right person on his post-it. Checking out the little yellow sticky once again, he realized George was right. Apparently his was going to die just a teensy weensy bit sooner than hers.

"Elizabeth Benner?" he threw out into the open.

"Why yes," a person answered in a self-aggrandizing way, giving Mason their full attention.

She thought it strange that this unfamiliar young man knew her name, but then again a lot of people knew her name.

"_Wow_, I've seen all your movies. It's truly an honor."

The woman looked at him strangely, tilting her phantom-esque mask to the side to uncover her eyes. She had never starred in any films... she was a realtor!

"Uh..." began Ms. Benner, but Mason was already speaking again.

"You look gorgeous tonight," he complimented, taking her hand and spirit at the same time.

Flashing an awkward grin, he hurriedly made himself scarce. He always liked to say or do something nice before the victim met their ultimate doom. It was just the right thing to do.

It all happened in a sort of blur. As the woman walked to the very back of the apartment to use the restroom, a suspicious-looking "cowboy" with a red bandana covering most of his face exposed himself from the shadows. He quickly took off his bandana and held it at his side. He followed Elizabeth Benner until he was able to sneak up behind her. Brandishing a knife and slipping the bandana over her mouth, he gained control of her. Only Mason and George saw the man lead her into a back bedroom.

Mason and George watched in horror. You'd think that after taking so many souls, they'd be used to it by now but it still stung. Especially after yesterday. That poor sick boy waiting to get cough medicine from his father... George couldn't even look when the serial killer came up to his doorstep.

It was absolutely horrible for them to just stand there and watch and do nothing about it. It was such an out of body experience for them. Sometimes just witnessing a terrible act was as bad as doing/committing the terrible act yourself. But they couldn't interfere because the official laws of grim reaping forbade them to. It was _fate_... it was _destiny_... it was _God's hand_... Whatever it happened to be, George thought it was a bunch of bull all the same.

It was difficult watching a murder though. Accidents were easy because they were so quick and unexpected. But _this_, this was dragging out and lagging on, and it felt like it was them getting prepared to be slain instead of this innocent woman.

Their guess was that he probably planned to rape her, take her life (hopefully in that order,) and then confiscate all the worldly possessions she had on her. And they were right.

Soon, neither the music nor the fabric of the bandana could muffle the blood-curdling screams and the noise coming from inside the back bedroom. Many gasped and cried out in alarm, while others ran forward to find out what was happening. The door was locked, but many tried to pry it open with all their might. In the meantime, the hostess desperately tried to calm everyone down. Some socialites there were too drunk off there ass to notice _anything_ even remotely awry. It didn't matter though. They were all too late...

The masked cowboy haphazardly dashed out of the bedroom, eyes wild and traces of blood on his clothes even though it was hard to tell since they were black. Those standing directly in front of the door were thrown back as it opened. The murderer left the door ajar for those to catch a glimpse of the mangled body. Yep, multiple stab wounds. He was carrying in his hands her shoulder bag by the strap and a pillowcase (most likely filled with all the jewels she was wearing.) The other hand reached for a revolver from his gun belt. Too bad everyone had thought it was fake earlier and just another harmless accessory to his costume...

He wagged it around like he meant business. Mess with him, and your head was going to get blown off! All of sudden there was a frantic stampede towards the front door and Mason and George were caught right in the middle of it.

"C'mon George, it's time to go," he said, grabbing her hand.

Even though it didn't matter whether or not they got shot, (well it would if they were blasted multiple times and then somehow got miraculously healed) Mason still felt the need to guide George to safety. Since she was in his company, it was his duty, or rather it was the bit of British gentleman in him coming out.

As they exited with haste, George saw the bouncer bound towards the shooter to tackle him. (He must have signed up to be official bodyguard for the night as well.) Reaching out a hand, she touched his shoulder, and took his soul. As Mason and George bolted out, shots rang out behind them and their buddy manning the front door most of the night was nailed in the chest and his lifeless body plummeted to the white carpet, drenching it in blood.

It wasn't until they both reached the outside street that she finally calmed down. Taking a breath—her first deep one all night, George spoke out to her fellow rebel grim reaper.

"You know what Mason?"

"What?"

"I don't think I like Halloween that much anymore," revealed George, looking up at big yellow moon shining amongst the stars."

"What about the day _after_, eh?" he prodded.

She didn't even have to think long on that one.

"Nah," she replied, shaking her head.

And with that, they walked on down the sidewalk, George's head leaning against Mason's shoulder comfortably.

* * *

**A/N:** Much thanks to those who have reviewed so far! I really appreciate it. : ) 


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